


A Compilation of Sherlock Fics

by GoofyLemur13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: #JohnisGoals, But Entertains for a Minute His Feelings, But they are subtle, Good Mary, John Is Such A Good Person, John Loved Mary, John Loves Rosie Too, John Loves Sherlock, John Watson - Freeform, M/M, Mind Palace, POV Sherlock Holmes, Rosie Watson - Freeform, Sherlock Accepts Reality, Sherlock Knows Watson May Not Love Him, Sherlock Pinning, Sherlock Pinning Kind Of, Sherlock and Watson have a fur baby, Someone Else's Coffin, The Final Problem rewrite, Writing prompted for something usual happening at 1am, as it should have been
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 22:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10976430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoofyLemur13/pseuds/GoofyLemur13
Summary: This is a group of Sherlock fics I've slowly started to work on just for fun. As I rewatch Sherlock Seasons 1-4 ideas come to mind and I write them down. I also use a lot of writing prompts to help get started so I'll place some works like that in here as well. I have severe writer's block and most of these works are only 900-1500 words. Just hang in there with me, I haven't written anything in ages. I apologize for the horrible grammar and active/passive voice issues. Any advice is much appreciated!I adore Dr. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes' friendship, and I do want to write about it. But the BBC TV show makes me wish there would be something more between them! So...these are a result of that. :)





	1. The Lying Detective Revisited

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. Sorry about the shortness of this piece. I'm trying to defeat writer's block. Hope you enjoy! Any helpful tips are welcome! :)

I sit in my chair next to the fireplace focusing on the embers. It's times like this that I can't stand. John and I haven't had a case in a week or so and I can feel the boredom starting to creep in...thoughts that I try to keep close to my vest start to seep out into my daily consciousness. Sticky, irrational, illogical thoughts that are of no use to me. I steeple my hands, fingers against my lips, and close my eyes. I step onto the stairway of my Mind Palace. I can hear Morierty singing loudly some tune I don't even recognize from the thickly padded room he is held captive in my mind. Crazy git. 

Just for a few minutes there's a room I would like to create. I'll entertain these useless thoughts for a few minutes and then...my logical state must return. Reality must return. I need to deposit some of these thoughts for another time or to possibly be deleted (if I know what's best for me). I create a white door in my mind and it opens easy stepping into the moment I stood up from my chair and hugged John after Mary died. The one time that I honestly considered someone else's needs above my own. John, my pressure point. Naturally. 

I don't know what compelled me to show even the tiniest bit of my hand to John that day. No one could possibly even come up with a logical or intelligent few words to penetrate the sadness of losing a beloved spouse. I knew there were no words, only actions that could express a wish to grasp at something to fix what has happened to him.  


I had touched John before, in excitement, dragging him around London from one case to another. Holding his hand across the street as I pulled him towards police cars and forensic vans. That was entirely friendly, a gesture only to keep John in step with my longer gait. 

I acted on this hug because of my emotions for John's loss. I do not ever entertain emotions because they are highly illogical, a silly distraction. John was a blubbering mess that day, still a blubbering mess sometimes now. Thank God for Rosie. But his inability to hide his pain and choking sobs struck me right in my deepest darkest places. Places I don't entertain, except this once, for the benefit of John. Knowing where this need to touch him, hush him, came from I could barely reach out. But, nonetheless, I pulled him into my arms and held him just there. I gave myself the satisfaction of his head resting on my chest. Tears falling on my robe. His sniffling noises against my chest dare me to speak words to hush him I couldn't dare utter. My lips itched to kiss the top of his head, I ignored it. My hands feel lame on the back of his neck, my muscles twitch from my unwillingness to allow my hands to run up and down his back. 

I snuffed out all biological reactions quickly. My pulse would not quicken at his warm body being so close. Serotonin would not be released at the touch of comfort I was giving to my friend. My breathing remained steady mediating on a narrative of John my friend, he lost his wife, he's a single parent, he's afraid, he's grieving, be strong and say something unnoticeable, something devoid of emotion, something the opposite of what dares to rip through your throat into the tiny space between your lips and his soft graying hair. 

"It is what it is" is the final thing I say. It sounds all unfeeling. It's not "John, at least we have each other." And it won't be "You're the only person I would do this for. Thought you should know." and it won't be "John, let me be strong for you. Let me ease this pain" and for absolute certain it would never be "John, I love you". These thoughts, making my heart sticky and heavy, are useless. Emotional traps set to tie me up and make me lose all ability to function. I must create a place to settle these emotions. 

I take these thoughts into my Mind Palace and I focus on pushing them into the room with the white door. Placing each emotion as a piece of furniture or knick knacks scattered about the room. I fill the whole room with thoughts of John and I. Once I've finished I step out of the room and a key materializes in my hand. I lock the door and the key dissolves through my fingers. Particles floating to the ground. I open my eyes and hear scuffling in the kitchen. 

Without missing a beat I say coolly, "John, we're out of milk. Pick some up while you're out today." 

John stops whatever it was he was doing and sighs. "Sure, Sherlock."


	2. The Case of the Morning Vistor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sherlock decides to take his boredom out on a cat outside 221B Baker Street at 1am, it doesn't go according to plan. The cat manages to show back up at the flat the next morning and might even potentially become the third flatmate for the Baker Street Boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No cats were harmed in the making of this story! :)

"That cat is back again, John. It's tearing through the trash. Bollocks, stupid felius catus." Sherlock hissed pushing from the window seal and reaching down next to the sofa pulling out his rifle he normally used to shoot holes into the wall above the fireplace.

Watson snapped his book closed and looked at the clock and his tall flatmate holding a gun."Sherlock, it's 1am. If you shoot that rifle out the window at a godforsaken cat you're going to wake up the entire bloody neighborhood." He pressed his lips together inhaling loudly.

Sherlock quipped, "That's preposterous. This is London, nobody is asleep at 1am. John, I just want to enforce a negative experience with it digging through everybody's trash! It's simple Pavlovian training."

Watson gave Sherlock an unsavory look. "Sherlock I swear-" Sherlock took aim and fired.

"Sherlock!" John cried. 

BLAM!

MMMMEOOOOWWW!!!

There was a loud noise like a bullet striking metal followed by the cat flying into the air past the window of 221B Baker Street. Evidently Sherlock catapulted the cat into the air with the bullet.

"Godammit Sherlock!" Watson tossed the book he was reading on the couch and stalked over to Sherlock wrestling the gun from his hands. He poked his head out the window searching for the poor animal. Hearing someone hastily unlocking a window, Watson tossed the gun towards the door of the flat and jumped into his chair. He situated hisself attempting to look causal as the neighbor peered towards the window of their flat. Watson pursed his lips at the buzz of excitement emitting from Sherlock's wide eyes as he crouched below the window seal out of sight.

"Hey you there!" the neighbor called towards John Watson.

"Evening" he smiled politely with a wave to the neighbor across the way.

"What the blazes? Did you fire a gun out your window?"

"Sorry, we've got a mate staying here who likes guns. He didn't realize that wasn't civil behavior around here. We talked to him. He's kind of," Watson made a hand gesture suggesting their guest might be crazy. Sherlock gave Watson a withering look.

"We'll see that he doesn't shoot it the remainder of his visit." The neighbor, still looking skeptical, slowly shut his window looking down towards the street.

"Can't believe I just had to explain why my flatmate was shooting at a cat digging through the trash. For godsake, do you have a case yet or something to keep you from blowing up the neighborhood?" Watson stood slowly and shot Sherlock a look of indignation.

"Nothing interesting enough to detain me." Sherlock clipped standing up and walking towards the fridge. He pulled out his latest science experiment in a plastic tub and studied it. He opened the container and stirred some solution within it.

"And now that you're bringing out the science experiments, I'm going to turn in for the night." Watson walked down the hallway towards the stairs shaking his head. "Night Sherlock."

"Night John." Sherlock replied distracted by whatever plastic dish entombed animal part he was surveying.

*

When Watson woke up the next morning he padded into the bathroom and set about his morning routine of a hot shower and brushing his teeth. Afterwards he slipped on a fresh shirt and trousers. He went down to the door that led to the street of the flat. When he opened the door the first thing he heard was a small, "meow." John did a double take realizing it was the same cat Sherlock shot into the air the night before. The cat purred rubbing itself against Watson's pant leg. The cat sauntered into the flat making itself at home. It jumped into the couch and started licking its tummy with its left leg in the air.

Watson stood at the door with his eyebrows raised, "Do come in," he deadpanned.

Shortly around lunch time Watson heard rustling from Sherlock's bedroom. A curly haired resemblance of a human emerged grumbling into the bathroom. Watson sat in his chair reading his newspaper occasionally glancing at the cat from last night as it sat on the couch. If John didn't know any better he thought the cat even looked a little smug. He sipped his tea gleefully waiting for Sherlock to come into the living area so he could see their visitor.

Sherlock finally made it into the living area freshly showered. He moved aside other experiments he'd been working on to get to the desired breakfast item he was after and poured himself some tea. He padded towards his chair and stopped short seeing the entertained look on Watson's face and the smug cat he beheld on the couch.

He narrowed his eyes, sipping his tea slowly. He said without a hint of doubt, "That cat was waiting by the door this morning."

"How did you know?" Watson questioned wryly.

"You always get the newspaper in the morning and the mat by the door is pushed back as if someone went through the door to get outside into the hallway. It wasn't set like that when I went to bed last night. Ms. Hudson never checks on us on a weekend morning so it had to be you who moved the mat. You're holding the newspaper, so obviously you retrieved it. The cat crept down from the rooftop where it landed last night judging by its grungy looking fur that matches the exact same color dirt as Ms. Hudson's potted plants on the roof. There's a little leaf stuck in its fur that matches the plants she grows. Unless that cat magicked itself in here this morning the only sensible explanation is that you let him in. Plus you have fur on your pants from where it rubbed up against you when opened the door."

John blinked and looked at the cat which released another tiny "meow" as if responding to Sherlock's answer, "Extrodinary", John said with a wide smile and returned to reading the newspaper.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was created from a prompt which read "write about something usual that happened at 1am" 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! I need help naming the cat because it might show back up in furture short stories! :)


	3. The Final Problem: A Small Rewrite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if during Season 4 Episode 3 "The Final Problem" Euros hadn't asked Sherlock to get Molly to profess her for love him? What if it was his best mate, Dr. John Watson? All rights are reserved to the creator of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the creators of the BBC show "Sherlock", Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.

Standing in a white room filled with TVs at Sherrinford, Sherlock began to deduce who the coffin was for that Euros strategically placed in the center of the room. This was the beginning of her sick and twisted puzzle no doubt and Sherlock had to play along in order to be successful at beating Moriarty at his own game. John and Mycroft flanked him watching with their own versions of concern and panic.

"The design of the coffin suggests it is intended for a male. Look at the material and color of the coffin, it’s black metal with sliver trim, even the font choice for 'I Love You' is masculine in nature. It must be someone who served, look at the British flag placed just here folded in the Royal Navy’s method. This also means this person has a spouse or loved one who would receive this during a burial ceremony," Sherlock's cool blue eyes slid over to Euros on the screens, "How very kind of you," he remarked frostily.

“Good. What’s inside the coffin, Sherlock?” Euros studied him with intensity and unfeigned fascination from whatever location she was holed in.

Sherlock popped the coffin open with help from Mycroft. Inside held an army uniform, with a hat and insignias on the jacket, the pin with the soldier’s name was missing from the front pocket.

Sherlock closed the coffin and walked back over to the flag. He traced the shape and rattled off the remaining of his observations, "He’s roughly 5’7, a short stature. A Captain based on the insignias on his uniform. Speaking of the uniform, it is a newer issue which means this person could only be a recent veteran who has completed a tour. Nobody in our family has served and is currently alive."

"Sherlock." Mycroft butts in sullenly studying John Watson.

Dr. Watson was pale.

Sherlock touches his temple running through all the data he's assembled and popped off, "Mycroft hush, no time for-"

"Sherlock, it's me." Dr. Watson replied beating him to the conclusion his genius mind would surely draw in only a manner of seconds.

"Very good, Dr. Watson. Now we're getting into the thick of things," chimed Euros.

Watson is surprised to find Sherlock’s expression has gone blank. Watson stepped forward standing as straight as possible, “What is it you want, Euros, mmm?”

"Sherlock, there is something I've been meaning to tell you. When you committed suicide, or so I thought, I realized some very important things that I need to express to you...," Euros stated theatrically looking directly at the camera. It becomes apparent the she has memorized something and has started to recite it.

"What are you doing?" Watson demanded.

"Dr. Watson, I'm only telling Sherlock what you don't have the guts to say. You wrote it all here," Euros waved a letter in front of the screen.

"When I watched you jump from St. Bart’s, every piece of my soul went with you. It was by Mary's grace alone that I have survived these two years. Every day since I have considered following you to the grave…just to be with you."

"Please stop." Dr. Watson growled. He caught a glimpse of Sherlock in his peripheral vision and he looked like someone infiltrated his data system and corrupted all the files. Blue screened. This only fueled Watson’s fear and rage.

"I won't listen to this." Dr. Watson worked his jaw and clenched his fists.

Euros watched Sherlock with a sickening curiosity and continued ignoring the doctor, "I have been in agony since you came back. I thought I had accepted my fate, marrying Mary made it tolerable to entertain a life without you. Now that you are back, I am torn apart by the life I have chosen for myself and the life I could have with you."

"Dr. Watson, when did you write this?" Mycroft rounded on the doctor with tinges of anguish and rage.

"Sherlock, I wrote that in a stage of grief. Nothing I-"

"Let's skip ahead. 'I don't care what Mary thinks, or anybody for that matter. I cannot marry her as long as I long for you. To have you back, is something I never thought possible and now that I do I must tell you that…” Euros stopped short. She looked up at Dr. Watson and hissed, “Finish the letter doctor. Sherlock, in the corner, you will find a box with a loaded gun inside and the original letter for your inspection. As long as Watson can recall the remaining bits of this letter in my hands I will allow him to live. If he cannot recall or refuses to recall, shoot him on sight or the passengers aboard the plane will all die.”

Nobody in the room moved.

“Do it now! You have 30 seconds.” Euros demanded.

“Sherlock!” Watson cried.

Sherlock scrambled to the corner grabbing the box, ripping off the lid, opening the letter with unsteady hands and pointed the gun at John. The detective was visibly shaken and he met John’s eyes with a look that let him know he was utterly wrecked by this turn of events. All the while in the background Moriarty's annoying face and voice infiltrated the room via the TV screens with a sickening tick, tock.

John’s voice sounded broken as he recalled the last few lines of the letter, “I love you, Sherlock. I love you, as my best mate. I love you in secret my sweet. You are the only hope I have in this world to be a much better man that I am. You are and have always been, the love of my life. All you need to do is say ‘yes.’ I couldn’t fucking forget that letter if I tried. As my therapist you asked me to write it. I had ink stains on my hands for days after going through draft after draft.”

"John." Sherlock croaked.

Watson flinched away from his name. He couldn't look at Sherlock, he was too focused on channeling his anger towards the person who had brought this all about in the first place. This was the final straw, Euros impersonating his therapist and engaging in a texting affair with him was one thing, but this, this was very private business. The likes of which Watson had not even been able to fully pursue or understand himself because he was married and now a widowed father. Euros had knowingly stolen any control John had over his life. Because this, this could completely ruin everything John had with Sherlock indefinitely and that was the last thing he needed right now.

Moriarty's face disappeared from the screen replaced by Euros’ once again, congratulating John in a sing-song voice on his ‘perfect recall’.

Sherlock, still visibly disturbed, set the gun on the coffin with shaking hands.

"How dare you." Dr. Watson seethed at Euros. He was so enraged his neck and face were completely red. "How dare you expose this to him in this manner. He is your brother and to insert yourself into a situation you know absolutely nothing about is a true reflection of your demented reality. Nothing is sacred to you! I will track you down and-"

“Get in line.” Mycroft retorted.

"An empty threat I'm afraid." Euros demurred, "Meanwhile this poor girl is on an airplane headed for a very tragic ending."

Sherlock's attention never left John during the exchange. John could feel his mate’s gaze boring a hole into his head. Finally, he met his penetrating gaze straight on accepting to be scrutinized directly. Sherlock looked him over with fresh eyes assessing and imploring. He was trying to find a weakness on the doctor’s face, his eyes, any tell that would give away the origin of his letter. To discern his feelings now versus when he wrote it. John knew now was not the time or the place and as the speaker system erupted with the small girl's voice pleading for help, Dr. Watson broke their nonverbal exchange to allow Sherlock to concentrate 100% on the small girl and the airplane.

..

John's heart picked up tenfold the second he paid the cabbie and bounded up the stairs after the detective who was taking each step two at a time into 221B Baker Street. Sherlock bypassed depositing his coat, scarf, and leather gloves in the foyer and entered the flat with Watson rounding right behind him and closing the door soundlessly. John brushed past him mumbling something about making tea. Sherlock’s cool eyes watched him as he walked over to the stove element and turned the knob. They had only just gotten a functioning stove after the explosion that had all but leveled their flat. They could eat takeaway forever, but tea time was an entirely different story. Sherlock found some distraction in the abhorrent pile of mail that littered the charred kitchen table. His ego hummed at an invite to a scientific research conference. He tossed everything in the trash.

John was facing the stove unable to hear one coherent thought because they were all bouncing rather loudly around in his brain. His heart was hammering and he was afraid to exhale too loudly alone in the flat with Sherlock. Was he going to hyperventilate? Pass out? he thought touching his neck and blinking away stars floating in his vision. He felt like the tea kettle on the stove element. It was only a matter of time before he heated to the point that he was blowing steam and screaming.

"John."

The doctor jumped at the proximity of his flatmate’s voice. Sherlock was close. Standing with his hands in his coat pockets leaning against the edge of the kitchen table, trapping the doctor’s ability to escape quickly. John gripped the stove handle squeezing his eyes shut. Sherlock was the predator and he was the prey. There was no way out of this conversation. This conversation, if this was indeed the conversation, would leave his heart splattered in ruins or lead him into the most vulnerable exchange he had ever had period. Were his ears ringing, or was that the tea kettle?

“John, I need your help here.” Sherlock sounded incredibly pained, but he pressed on, “I don’t know how to do this. Science, criminology and data analysis those are my specialties. I know better than most all.” There was a pregnant pause followed by, “but human emotions and relationships. Us? That letter. Whatever you were feeling or are currently feeling I am utterly lost and I need you to find me and teach me what do to.”

John turned to face Sherlock astonished that this man, with all of his skill and intellect, was standing here asking him for help about anything at all. For once, John wasn’t the student learning from Sherlock Holmes. For once, John was the teacher and he had the detective’s undivided attention.

"I wrote the letter two days after you came back. I was devastated that you had faked your own death and told no one except Molly. I was your best mate. I thought I was someone you could confide in, Sherlock. I just sat down and I put everything in that letter. You have to understand that I was pissed at you. I was an emotional wreck when you came back. I met Mary and I accepted that this was what life was going to be like without you. When you came back all of the emotions that had compounded and grew in secret took over me and I had to get it out. You had been in Siberia facing god fucking knows what, I didn't want to dump it on you. I thought this was my fate and I resigned to get married. I settled for just being in your life again in whatever way you would have me. I thought I destroyed that letter out of fear you would find it, but I guess, with Euros sneaking around in our lives the way she was, she found it somehow. She knew about it, asked me to write it as my therapist. I hate that she is how you found out, but I'm also relived because I wonder every day what life would be like if there was more. I have felt selfish carrying these feelings around about you for so long. Especially now, now with Rosie and Mary being, being gone. But I-I just want you to understand that I love them. I mean to do right by them. I wouldn't trade any of it for a do over 100% of my days. And I also want you to understand that my feelings for you are set apart from Mary, they have never changed, but I have, many times, put them aside thankful for our friendship because it is most important to me. Especially now."

"That was quite a statement."

John searched Sherlock’s eyes noticing that his pupils were blown so wide that the ice blue in his irises were just a thin circular line.

The whistle on the tea kettle blew and John turned away to remove the kettle.

"Turn it off, John." Sherlock said hoarsely.

John turned the knob off on the stove and turned to face Sherlock again. His heart was in his throat but he took a tentative step towards the detective closing the gap between them leaving just a hair’s breath of space between the two men. John tilted his head studying Sherlock’s response to his nearness, but Sherlock was stoic and analyzing the blogger’s movements. He slipped his hands into Sherlock’s coat running his fingers up the fabric of his button up shirt and feeling the muscle of his chest. He pulled the blue wool coat free of Sherlock’s shoulders with no resistance from his best mate. Sherlock reached up and tugged at the thick scarf around his neck and let it slide to the floor. John took the detective’s gloved hand and with his teeth he bit the space between the scientist’s index finger and the finger tip of the leather glove pulling the glove off with his teeth. Sherlock watched this with a hooded gaze until both gloves were free and forgotten on the floor. When the detective’s hands were free his long fingers skimmed Watson’s arms slowly. Sherlock studied the doctor’s reaction carefully. Confident there would be no resistance the space between the two men evaporated as Sherlock slowly backed John into the stove his height covering his body completely. His long fingers tilted John’s neck gaining access to the vulnerable skin. He proceeded to gently suck John’s neck building up to his mouth which the tall man captured into a heated kiss immediately exploring it and silencing John’s whimpers. When Sherlock pulled back to look at John he was staring at Sherlock’s swollen lips. Desire was radiating off John’s body in waves and Sherlock could hardly contain himself.

Sherlock touched his forehead to John’s and gently prodded, “Ask me.”

“Ask you what, Sherlock? Which patterned jumper you want me to bugger off first? I will literally set them all on fire if you’ll kiss me like that again. I know you think they are ridiculous.” John teased.

“Mmm, excellent, John. We can start with the one you’re currently wearing later. In the letter you wrote, you said ‘just say yes? Ask me. Do it now, John.” His fingers traveled down John’s side grasping his hip and pushing aside the doomed jumper and the waistband of his trousers to tease and rub the skin underneath.

“Do you-″ Sherlock popped open John’s trouser button with one hand and slipped his other inside.

“Sherlock, I can’t think with you trying to seduce me.” A deep blush spread over John’s face. Words I never thought I would say, John thought. He resigned and glanced down needing to see Sherlock’s hand down the front of his trousers. He released a suppressed moan at the sight. Sherlock’s breath sputtered at the sound and he licked a stripe up John’s neck.

“Fuck.” John whimpered and Sherlock finally released him wanting him to finish.

“Do you love me?” John whispered desperately.

Sherlock cupped John’s face with his long fingers, “Yes, my dear Watson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very proud of this fic, it's almost 3,000 words! I honestly can't remember the last time I was able to write near 3,000 words. Hope you enjoyed! I tried to stay as close to canon (minus just a few things) as possible. Just as an aside, I am never trusting Google ever again. There are several different ways to spell Euros and Moriarity and they're everywhere!! Keep in mind I watched the last episode of Season 4 a year ago so I might have overlooked some important plot point. I apologize. Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Songs listened to while writing: Sam Smith "Say it First" and Ariana Grande "God is a woman"


End file.
